


Reap The Whirlwind

by Cristinuke



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Bad Puns, Bucky has a cat, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendly banter, Frottage, Gen, Just a lot of fluff okay?, M/M, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Shower Sex, That's it, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: Bucky finds a cat. Or rather, a cat finds him.





	Reap The Whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for the Captain America Reverse Bang 2017! It's been so much fun to work with and meet new people! Shout out to the mods and to [Nonymos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos) for editing and screaming at me. And of course, the biggest shout out for [falcon-hill](http://little-nutmeg-arts.tumblr.com/) for her absolutely INCREDIBLE art I had the fortune to write about!!!

Bucky stared balefully at the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table.

He didn’t really want to light one up, but he could feel himself still skittish from the tendrils of his latest nightmare, and he really was tired. There was no way he was going to be able to fall back asleep tonight without something to calm him down, and waking Steve up again seemed too cruel. Forcing himself to move his sluggish feet, he snatched the pack up grumpily and slumped his way to the window.

The nights were starting to cool down, something Bucky appreciated as he heaved the window open. He’d had enough of the sweltering Brooklyn days, from both before the war and after. At least they had air conditioning nowadays, even if Steve sometimes forgot to turn it on.

Crawling over the window sill, Bucky landed quietly on the grates of the fire escape, only to tiredly slide down the wall, sprawling into a tangled heap. His hands were still shaky as he softly hit the pack of cigarettes three times before letting one slide out. Digging into the pockets of his sweats, he realized he’d forgotten his lighter inside.

It took a few moments of stoic staring out into nothing before he let himself groan and curse colorfully at his situation. He really didn’t have the energy to drag himself back up again, and trying to psych himself up to the monumental task of moving at all was proving to be way harder than he thought.

“You forgot your lighter, didn’t you?” An amused voice carried out from inside the apartment. Bucky tipped his head back to see Steve’s sleepy face looking down on him, his lighter tucked safely in his outstretched hand. Bucky reached up and let Steve drop the lighter onto his open palm.

“Thanks.” Bucky mumbled, shoulders slumping. “’M sorry I woke you up.” He thought he’d been so quiet and sneaky, but clearly he was losing his touch. Living this easy, domestic life was really wreaking havoc on his spy skills. He guessed that was probably a good thing, not being all _Winter Soldier-y_ anymore, but it was just putting him more on edge at the moment.

Steve leaned heavily against the side of the window, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest. Neither of them could stand wearing shirts to bed in the heat, but with the temperatures dropping, they were going to have to start wearing them again.

“Don’t worry about it. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

And wasn’t that the pinnacle of being Steve? Bucky didn’t bother stifling the dry snicker that bubbled up as he flicked the lighter a few times. “Just peachy, Stevie.” He clicked the lighter again, letting the flame go up and watching it flicker before letting go and doing it all over again.

Steve attempted to covertly stifle a yawn, and Bucky tried to not let himself drown in sudden guilt. Steve was just trying to help, and Bucky was still learning to get used to not everyone wanting something from him all the time. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Steve.

“Go back to bed, Steve. I’ll be there in a little while.” Bucky finally lit up the cigarette, taking a long drag and feeling the way the smoke filled up his lungs. It felt good, this tangible reminder that he was still alive. It was almost as good as fucking Steve, but seeing as Steve was currently trying not to fall asleep on his feet, Bucky was fine with settling with his stick. Bucky let out the smoke, trying to aim away from the window.

Steve nodded, and wrinkled his nose as the acrid smell of the smoke inevitably made its way back towards him. Bucky felt another wave of guilt at that; he knew that his smoking bothered Steve a lot— years as an asthmatic would do that to a guy— but Steve would never say anything about it. Just another thing that was tolerated because Bucky was fucked up.

Steve’s voice brought Bucky’s attention back, “Come back soon, ‘kay?”

Bucky nodded, opting to stick the cigarette between his lips in lieu of a real answer. Steve must have seen his response, though, because he turned and went deeper into the apartment, presumably back to bed.

Bucky took in another long drag before letting it all out in a heavy sigh. Resting his head against the brick wall, he let his hands drape over his bent knees, fingers absently flicking the lighter again. Occasionally he flicked the fading decal on his lighter with his nail, vaguely amused all over again at memory of the first time he’d seen it.

It really was a nice night out, and between the slight breeze and the cigarette, Bucky felt himself unwinding. It felt incongruent, the peace he sometimes found out on the fire escape. The sounds of the city were far from calm, the lights too bright, and the buildings too close together, and yet Bucky found it all comforting at the dead hours of the night.

It didn’t take long for his cigarette to die, and Bucky was tempted to light up another one, but he had promised Steve he wouldn’t be out too long, and he felt calmer anyway. He crushed the butt of the cigarette into the maple leaf ashtray that Steve had conveniently bought him, and with a fortified breath, Bucky hauled himself up.

He leaned forward against the window sill, fingers curled around the lighter, and he stood there for a few minutes, shifting his balance from foot to foot. As he swayed, his fingernails absently scraped against the image on the lighter. It was just a cheap, plastic lighter with pastel flowers in green and pink, and white, block letters spelling out the word “fuck.” Steve had given it to him as a tentative ‘welcome home’ gift a while back when he’d realized how bad Bucky’s anxiety got the better of him some days, and Bucky had nearly pissed himself laughing. It sometimes worked to bring Bucky back to a more even keel. Sometimes.

Straightening up, Bucky tossed the lighter inside to land on the coffee table, before climbing over the window sill.

He hoped he could fall asleep now, even for an hour or two.

*

Bucky hated the cold.

But he also hated it when it was too hot. He couldn’t fucking win.

Well, that wasn’t always true, he was winning right now, he could concede. Steve was wrapped around him from behind, nose tucked into Bucky’s neck, soft exhalations making his hair shift and tickle. His bare chest was pressed up against Bucky’s back, and one of his legs had slipped in between Bucky’s, ankles crossing again lower. He was completely passed out as the late afternoon sunlight filtered through their broken blinds that Bucky kept meaning to fix, yet continued to procrastinate.

Bucky himself was drifting nicely, still completely fucked out from their earlier activities, and his thoughts just slid from one to another, tangents taking hold with no particular direction, and thoughts evaporating as if he’d never thought them. Trying to pull them back rarely yielded positive results, but it didn’t bother him as much as when he tried to remember real memories.

But the one thing he kept coming back to was how nice it was to do something as stupidly mundane as _spooning_. Bucky and Steve both loved it, still too touched-starved of each other to really feel self-conscious about it, despite Sam’s best attempts. Bucky didn’t give a flying fuck what Sam thought, and pointedly told him, because who wouldn’t want to have an American Idol nestled against you? Or at least, that was the way Bucky was phrasing it this week, just to tick Sam off, and get that faint blush on Steve’s cheeks.

He’ll figure out another fun way to tease the boys later. Now he just wanted to revel in the perfect moment. He’d really missed this, the summer weather making it too goddamn hot to cuddle properly. Regardless of good intentions, trying to cuddle someone in the unforgiving heat was just too sweaty and gross. Any exposed skin sticking to skin, only to peel away with a disgusting noise, was enough to want to shove anyone away just to have a breather.

Now that it was finally getting cooler, they could properly cuddle without risk of napping becoming a gross human version of a Slip ‘n Slide. Small mercies.

Hoodies were also a fun thing with this weather. Stealing Steve’s hoodies, was even _more_ fun, Bucky thought. Swimming in all that false sense of security while watching Steve check him out was always good.

No, wait, the lack of mosquitoes. _That_ made the impending winter more bearable. The thought of those goddamn fuckers dying and burning in hell was almost enough to make Bucky get out of bed in the mornings. They had managed to make so many animals go extinct in the past 70 years, and somehow mosquitoes weren’t on that list. It was a fucking shame.

Bucky shifted slightly as he realized he didn’t know how he’d gotten on the subject of mosquitoes. Getting more comfortable, he earned a sleepy grumble from Steve. His arms tightened briefly around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky couldn’t help the small smile forming at the possessive gesture. He knew if Steve was awake, he’d probably apologize while grinning, and Bucky smiled even more at the mental image.

It was that, combined with Steve’s even breaths, which finally lulled Buck back to his doze. Afternoon delights were really tiring, so he didn’t feel guilty about sleeping the day away. He loved lazy weekends.

*

The one place he didn’t mind temperatures so much, for some odd reason, was the fire escape. Bucky would still love to complain about the heat or the cold in any given situation, but somehow it was more bearable to not care so much when he was out there. They were high up enough in the apartment building that there was almost always a breeze to cool the summer nights, and he always bundled up extra layers to fight against the freezing winters. Rain or shine, the dumb place had become his personal safe haven.

Of course, Steve noticed.

And bless his fucking heart, he recognized how special that space was to Bucky, and generally left him alone whenever Bucky was hiding out there. More than that, he even made some modifications that were probably not exactly compliant with their contract or the building’s regulations, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to tell that to Steve.

Bucky stuck his unlit cigarette between his lips and let it hang as he took in the little cubby that Steve had affixed to the side of the building. It wasn’t in the way of the actual stairs, which was the main point Steve had stressed when Bucky asked him about it. Bucky had just grinned and thanked him, loving the sly glint in Steve’s eye that told him he just got away with doing something mischievous. He had given Steve a blow-job up against the window later that day in gratitude.

Now, the cubby just held some ‘essentials’ as Steve liked to say; a couple of water bottles, extra ashtrays, one of Steve’s older sweaters that Bucky had stolen early on, and a bag of sunflower seeds for when Bucky wanted a snack.

The sound of shuffling steps approaching had Bucky craning his neck around. It was the middle of the night, more like early morning, and Bucky had thought Steve was deeply asleep. Taking one look at Steve’s shadowed face told him that Steve _had_ been asleep, but it hadn’t been good.

“Nightmare?” Bucky asked, scooting to the side so that Steve could have room to climb over the window sill. He fingered his cigarette so it wouldn’t fall out of his mouth.

Steve didn’t answer, and that gave Bucky a pretty good indication of how bad it must have been. He hesitated at the window, and the ambient city lights casted a low glow over his face. Bucky could actually see the dried tear tracks on his face.

His heart broke.

“C’mere.” He beckoned softly. Bucky tucked his cigarette into the cubby, throwing his lighter in there too so that he could free up his hands. Steve wavered for a moment before finally settling his hands on the sill and crawling over. His feet landed heavily on the grates, and then he was crumpling down towards Bucky. Bucky caught him easily, pulling him into his chest and arranging the both of them so that Steve was tucked up right along him. He could feel Steve’s shuddering breaths as Steve grabbed hold of Bucky’s sweatpants, clutching the fabric tight in his fists.

“Y’wanna talk about it?” Bucky asked quietly. Someone’s TV could be heard, the unintelligible sounds carrying through the night air.

Steve shook his head, breathing out heavily.

Sometimes it was like this. Bucky had this space he could retreat to and recoup, and that meant he wasn’t in bed some nights. Which meant he couldn’t be there for Steve if he woke up from a nightmare. So Steve occasionally wandered out of the apartment to find Bucky on the fire escape and join him, taking comfort and calming down. Bucky always put out his cigarettes if he was lighting up, but even then Steve would usually still wrinkle his nose at the smell in his clothes. Bucky loved the way his face scrunched up when he did that, and the fact that Steve would rather be with him than get away from the smell always overrode whatever guilt he felt in that moment.

Now, though, they just shared the space; Bucky leaning on the wall, and Steve leaning on him, the both of them breathing together as they watched the city move sluggishly below them.

*

Bucky loved watching Steve sketch.

There was something so calming about watching him get into his zone. He was always so clearly confident and in his element, that sometimes Bucky got a little bit jealous that Steve could lose himself so easily in something so innocent. But that bit of jealously always passed as soon as it came, leaving nothing but awe as he watched.

One of his favorite things was when Steve got stuck on something. It happened occasionally, where something just wouldn’t come out the way he envisioned it, and his pencils usually got the brunt of it. It was obviously a twitch or an unconscious lapse of judgment, but whatever it was, Steve didn’t realize he’d accidentally messed around with his pencils too hard until it was too late.

“Dammit.” Steve muttered under his breath when he broke another pencil for the third time that night.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.” Bucky called out from where he was hanging upside down on the couch. Steve glanced up, startled to realize Bucky had been paying close attention to him.

“I just can’t get this look right.” Steve bemoaned before sighing and closing his sketchbook. “I’ll try again later, my back is killing me.”

“You’re right, grandpa, it’s past your bedtime.”

“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious.” Steve rolled his eyes but came over to sit on the couch to the left of Bucky. Bucky tucked an arm behind his head so he could see Steve’s face better without craning his neck.

Without thinking, Steve put his right hand on Bucky’s stomach, trailing up and down his pecs, idly tracing invisible patterns. When Bucky twitched with sensitivity, Steve smoothed out his hand to cover the ticklish spots, almost as if erasing the reactions.

Bucky hummed, and then asked, “What were you drawing that caused the death of innocent pencils?”

Steve’s cheeks colored slightly and Bucky was suddenly suspicious. He knew, though, how shy Steve got about his sketchbook sometimes, so he immediately let him off the hook.

“Do you wanna watch a movie tonight? Or can I fuck you into next week?”

Steve’s hand curled slightly where it rested over Bucky’s ribs.

“How about both?” He said a little breathlessly. His pupils had already started to grow, and Bucky loved that he could turn Steve on that quickly with just a couple of choice words.

“You’re a genius.” Bucky smiled, “Help me up.”

“On second thought,” Steve trailed off as he bent over to kiss Bucky. They both couldn’t help laughing into each other’s mouths at Steve’s eagerness and the awkward position they were both in.

It didn’t take too long to turn that laughter into moans, though.

*

It was during a particularly bad night and four cigarettes, going on five with no end in sight, when Bucky noticed a faint meowing sound. It was easy to ignore at first, because there were always cats howling outside their apartment; it was highly annoying when they were in heat, screeching their hearts out, sounding like a baby getting dismembered. But this wasn’t a cat in heat, and it wasn’t a wanderer passing through the neighborhood. It was coming from one location and the tone felt like it was getting more and more desperate.

 _Kind of like how I feel_. Bucky rolled his eyes when he realized he was commiserating with a _cat_.

But the sounds kept occurring, a beat in between each, as if it was calling out for something.

With a sudden understanding, Bucky realized that the cat must have been stuck somewhere. It made sense, in what Bucky’s logic could formulate— knowing nothing about cat’s behavior— that a cat would only sound like that if they couldn’t get out of some tight spot.

Bucky was already halfway up when his brain caught up with him, and slammed him with surprise at wanting to find and help the stupid cat. He really shouldn’t have been that surprised; doing something good for once was bound to be better than wallowing in the hurt he’s caused and letting himself drown in guilt.

Standing up straight, he put out his cigarette and left the ashtray balancing precariously on the window sill. Steve was asleep and Bucky hadn’t woken him up when he’d slipped out earlier, so he doubted that Steve would wake up anytime soon; he didn’t think he’d have to worry about Steve opening the window and knocking it over on accident.

It felt good to investigate. His headspace had shifted so slightly, and his movements were smooth and stealthy as he tried to find the source of the meowing. Luckily, the cat wouldn’t shut up, so after a few careful jumps and side stepping, Bucky figured out it was coming from a couple floors down on the adjacent building. He landed silently on the darkened balcony that housed a few potted plants, and located the cat. It seemed to be stuck in some laundry that someone had left out to dry, its limbs sticking out of the bundle of cloth it had created. It swung gently from the clothesline as the cat cried out.

“Hey there, cat.” Bucky murmured. He knew he didn’t have to be too quiet, because whoever lived in this apartment was certainly out for the night. He doubted anyone could sleep through a cat screaming outside your window; getting caught by a neighbor, however, seemed more likely and less easy to explain away.

Bucky approached the cat cautiously, talking to it as he did, “How did you even get in this mess?” He reached the cat and briefly wondered about rabies as he started to carefully extricate the cat from its tangled prison. The cat seemed unbothered by Bucky’s help, and Bucky had a moment of relief that the cat didn’t feel like being in a bite-y or scratch-y mood. It was still meowing, though.

It surprised Bucky how long it took to figure out the knots that the cat’s wriggling had caused; he settled for trying to pull the cat out rather than untangling the clothes. Finally he got the cat freed, tugging him close and holding him in his arms. The cat didn’t seem to mind or care to find itself in its new surroundings, but at least it had finally stopped meowing.

“Hey buddy. You’re all good now.”

Its dark fur looked soft, if a little out of place in some spots, and Bucky’s first instinct was to smooth it back. He lifted his hand to stroke the cat, but froze when he realized he was reaching with his metal hand. After a moment’s deliberation, he pulled his hand back at the last second and gently put the cat down. As soon as the cat was down, however, it immediately jumped back onto the untangled clothes line.

Bucky stared.

He’d just been played _by a cat_.

Watching the cat navigate the haphazard clothes, Bucky could only stand there and be grudgingly impressed as it picked its way to make a nest of sleeves. It had never been stuck in the first place, simply crawling into one of the pockets and twisting it up to make it appear like he was actually caught in the hanging sleeves and pant legs. The cat had just been playing around.

Bucky couldn’t help the astonished huff of laughter as he watched the cat paw at the clothes, “You little fucker.” With a conceding half-grin, Bucky raised two fingers to his eyebrow and saluted the oblivious cat before turning around and making his way back up to his apartment.

When he reached his landing, he picked up the ashtray from the sill and put it away in the cubby. As he made his way into the apartment, he began to shuck off his clothes, knowing that the cigarette smoke still lingered in the fabric, and he didn’t want to subject Steve to waking up to that smell in their bed. So he detoured towards their laundry room and tossed everything in the hamper before padding down the hallway to their bedroom. He tried to be as quiet as possible as he rummaged through his drawers for a new pair of sweats and a t-shirt, but he must have used up all his ‘stealth mode’ outside.

“That’s a sight for sore eyes.” Steve mumbled as he shifted to hug his pillow tightly. His eyes were still half-closed with sleep, and he looked comfortable and sleep-heavy in the bed.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Rogers. You’re insatiable.”

Steve hummed in response and let Bucky dress in peace.

When Bucky pulled back the covers to get in, Steve grumbled at the cool air sneaking in, making Bucky smirk. Laying down quickly, he pulled the covers over the both of them, and shuffled closer towards Steve. With a drawn out groan, Steve rolled over towards Bucky until his back was tucked up against Bucky’s chest.

As Bucky was reaching his metal arm to rest over his waist, Steve murmured, “Everything okay?” With his right hand, he found Bucky’s hand and interlocked their fingers, flesh fitting against metal.

Bucky gave him a small squeeze and rested his forehead against the back of Steve’s neck.

“Yeah, everything’s fine now.” Steve’s body was warm against Bucky’s body, and he found himself believing his own words.

“Hmm, good.”

Steve’s voice was raspy and tired, and Bucky knew he was already drifting off. “Go to sleep, Steve.”

Steve’s response came a beat too late to be completely conscious, “M’kay.”

*

Bucky didn’t think about the cat until a couple nights later when he was out on the fire escape and the thing sat its ass down in front of him and stared.

It was late in the afternoon, the weakening sun setting sooner with the impeding winter. Bucky was eating dinner alone since Steve was inside filling out some paperwork for something or other, and Bucky didn’t want to distract him.  Dinner, of course, was a roast beef sandwich that was now under heavy surveillance, if the cat’s watchful eye was any indication.

Bucky retaliated by sticking his tongue out at the cat.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to have any effect on the cat whatsoever.

The convenience of Bucky eating meat made him a little suspicious, so he chewed extra defiantly.

“Go away.” Bucky garbled around a needlessly big bite. The cat pretended like it hadn’t heard him. It just carefully watched Bucky and his sandwich with its big eyes. Sitting on its haunches, its grey tail occasionally swished along the railing it was balancing on. Bucky was just thinking of stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his mouth when the cat blinked and let out a mournful meow.

In less than a second, all of Bucky’s defenses came crumbling down.

That moment, he knew he was owned by the cat, and he couldn’t even be mad. Giving in, he picked off a piece of roast beef and held it out for the cat. It didn’t move.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust me either, buddy.” Bucky considered throwing it at the cat, but then he realized that the meat would probably just fall down through the grates and just be a waste of food. Instead, Bucky carefully showed the cat where he was putting the meat, exaggerating his movements as he set it on the first step leading up to the apartment above them.

He finished his sandwich and continued his staring contest with the cat until Steve’s voice broke his concentration.

“Bucky? You good out there?”

Bucky kept his eyes on the cat, who still hadn’t moved from its perch. “Yeah. You done?”

At Steve’s affirmative, Bucky winked at the cat and made his way back inside. He was quickly distracted by a shirtless Steve who wanted to celebrate him finishing his homework on time, and who was Bucky to deny him rewards?

Later, when Bucky checked, the food was gone.

*

He didn’t see the cat again for another week. When he did see it, finally, it was by accident.

Steve was out, with Natasha probably. Bucky had been playing video games and hadn’t quite paid attention to where Steve had said he was going. It was a little rough coming out of his gaming haze, feeling like he was waking up from a coma without a sense of time, but when he finally focused his eyes he realized it was night time already, and it was pouring hard outside. He vaguely remembered Steve taking an umbrella when he’d left, but he hadn’t realized when the rain had started; now that he was aware of it, the sound was deafening.

He made his way to their kitchen, his suddenly starving stomach protesting loudly at Bucky’s negligence. Not feeling like actually cooking, Bucky elected to heat up some canned soup when his raid of the fridge proved futile; left-overs were a rare enough occurrence in their household, let alone any lasting left-overs.

As the microwave whirred away, warming up his meal, Bucky made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. Washing his hands, he heard the faint beeping alerting him that his dinner was ready, so he quickly dried his hands and started walking back to the kitchen. On the way, he passed the fire escape window and stopped in his tracks when he saw a lump that hadn’t been there before. When he got closer to investigate, he realized that it was a cat, impossibly curled up, on the window sill against the glass.

“You don’t belong there, bud.” He told the cat in no uncertain terms.

Bucky wondered if it was the same cat he’d been seeing as he slowly opened the window, careful not to jostle the cat. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because the cat didn’t startle the way Bucky had been expecting. That alone immediately sent off some red warning flags in his mind.

He got the window open enough to reach over and grab the cat, slowly pulling it inside.

“Fuck,” He cursed as the entire floor under the window quickly became a gigantic puddle courtesy of the wind trying to blow even more rain inside. Bucky held the cat to his chest and quickly closed the window, his metal arm having to briefly engage a little more than usual to account for the ridiculous wind fighting him.

When the storm was raging safely outside again, Bucky looked down at the cat in his arms and realized that on top of being completely soaked, the poor thing was really cold. Worryingly so, when Bucky realized it probably should have been shivering at the very least.

Shifting the cat so he could get a good look at it, he noted it was awake, but completely limp. “You don’t look too good.” He murmured, watching as the cat made no response other than to slowly blink water out of its eyes.

Its fur was darkened and matted with water, but Bucky was nearly convinced it was the same cat that had hung around.

A beep startled Bucky, and he remembered he had put something in the microwave. Tucking the cat against his chest, he walked into the kitchen and turned off the microwave, leaving the soup inside for later. He looked at the sink filled with dirty dishes and decided he’d have to clean the cat in the bathroom.

Turning on the light, he felt the cat shift slightly against the sudden bright light. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you there. Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

He started running a warm bath and pulled some fresh towels from under the sink which he set on the counter. When the water was a few inches deep, Bucky kneeled down on the shower mat and carefully laid the cat inside the tub, mindful of not going too fast. Possible shock due to the temperature changes was at the forefront of Bucky’s mind, and he didn’t want the poor thing to suffer any more than it already had.

“There you go,” Bucky murmured as he used a small rag to wipe down the cat. He didn’t trust the cat’s wobbly legs to hold itself up, so he kept his flesh hand secure under its belly while he worked the rag and clean water into the fur.

The cat let him clean it up, not attempting to make any sort of movements that Bucky imagined most cats made when faced with bath time.

“What are you, anyway?” Bucky wondered as he wiped down its hind legs. Lifting up the cat, Bucky looked underneath. “Well, that doesn’t help…” The cat didn’t have any testicles, but Bucky didn’t know if maybe the cat was neutered or not.

“I’m going to assume you’re a girl. Let me know if you’re not.” Bucky told the cat seriously. The cat blinked at him.

Bucky nodded and kept cleaning. After a while, the cat gently lowered its— her?— head down to rest on Bucky’s forearm. 

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Bath time’s over.” Bucky smiled at the soft, sweet meow the cat finally made. “I guess you’re clean and warm enough,” he deemed.

Draping the wet rag on the lip of the tub, Bucky turned off the water and pulled the drain before grabbing a dry towel. He tried to get as much water off the cat as he could before wrapping her up in another dry towel.

“You look like a burrito.” Bucky informed the cat. “Cat-burrito. Burrito-cat.”

He held the bundle in his arms as he got up and made his way back to the living room. He made a bee-line towards to couch, intent on sitting down, but before he made it halfway, he suddenly wondered if the cat might want some water. Adjusting his course, he walked to the kitchen and grabbed a shallow bowl before filling it up with tap water.

It was then that he froze, burrito-cat in one hand, bowl of water in the other.

A wave of cold washed through him as if he’d been the one stranded out in the rain, thoughts pouring down to drown him.

He had no idea what he was doing.

The cat had just been in the bath, surrounded by water— surely she would have drunk something if she was thirsty?

He didn’t know how to take care of a cat— he could barely take care of himself some days, when it got really bad.

The cat could easily die if he squeezed too tight, the towel a flimsy layer of protection against metal, and when had he switch which arm was holding it?

He was going to fuck it up, fuck everything up, and why did he think he could do this? He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t—

The cat meowed.

It was a single, quiet chirp of a sound, and it was enough to rein Bucky in from a downward spiral of misery.

Looking down, Bucky realized that the cat was watching him, her eyes too big for her head, and wet fur still sticking out in odd angles.

“Sorry about that.” Bucky whispered, still tight with tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The cat blinked slowly, and Bucky felt himself breathe out shakily.

He seemed to be doing okay so far, hadn’t he? Bucky realized that he was getting worked up and anxious for no good reason. He hadn’t killed the cat (yet, at least), and he had only been trying to help her, all he’d ever done, honestly.

How bad could he be, in that case?

Bucky didn’t really want to answer that question, so he took everything to the living room and sat down heavily on the couch. He set the bowl on the coffee table for the moment, accidentally sloshing a little bit of water, before reaching for the haphazard blanket on the back of the couch. He went about arranging it so that it could serve as a nice nest for the cat, not really knowing what cats actually liked to rest in. After carefully setting the cat— still wrapped up tightly and making a great impression of a lump— in the middle of the nest, Bucky was at a loss of what to do, and ended up just staring at the cat.

The cat stared back until she yawned, tiny white teeth surrounding a little pink tongue. With one final blink at Bucky, she simply fell asleep amongst her cocoon of blankets.

Steve found Bucky still staring at the cat when he finally came home later.

 Bucky didn’t look up when he heard the jangle of keys in the lock, nor when Steve opened the door to let himself in. He must have looked half-crazed, sitting in the dim light the kitchen provided; he’d forgotten to turn on the living room lights when he’d come in before.

When Steve set his keys and coat down on the table, Bucky looked up just in time as Steve opened his mouth. Before letting him say anything, Bucky simply raised a finger to his lips, shushing him silently.

Steve raised an eyebrow, but walked quietly towards the couch, eyes sliding from the cat to Bucky and back, trying to assess the situation.

“I couldn’t leave her out alone in the cold and rain.” Bucky whispered, his own attention back on the sleeping cat. She hadn’t even twitched at his voice, and he wondered how exhausted she must have been.

“Okay.” Steve whispered back cautiously, sitting down on the floor next to the coffee table. The bowl of water was still resting on top, the ring underneath already dried.

Bucky glanced up to see Steve studying him intently. He wasn’t stupid. He realized what he’d said and the parallels that Steve was no doubt drawing between the cat and Bucky himself, but he didn’t care. Especially if it somehow meant getting Steve to agree to let him keep the cat.

The thought startled him badly, his body jerking as if catching himself from falling. He hadn’t realized he’d let himself think about keeping the cat. The thought propelled him to his feet before quietly declaring, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

He definitely did not want to think about keeping the cat, because that meant wanting the cat. Try as he might, he still wasn’t used to wanting and keeping things. Something inevitably went wrong and he was left empty-handed again, no matter how hard Steve tried to convince him it was okay.

He stalked out of the room, still silent because dammit if he didn’t want the cat to wake up now, and left a bewildered Steve on the floor. Bucky felt a little bad for him, but for once he felt worse for himself.

He knew he couldn’t keep the cat.

*

When Bucky woke up the next morning, the cat was curled up on his chest, purring contently.

He put the reason for the sudden tightness in his chest down the soft weight of the cat, even though the cat barely weighed anything. He wasn’t about to start analyzing what the steady pressure the cat provided was doing for him.

Steve used his seemingly psychic abilities and popped his head through the open door, checking to see if Bucky was awake. They’d both finally gotten over the novelty of the high frequency amount of times they happened to catch each other at the right moment and put it down to some serum thing.

 _‘Super-soldier superstitions’_ Sam liked to call it. Bucky liked to call Sam other names.

Before Steve even realized Bucky was awake, a fond smile stretched its way across his face as he took in the scene. When he saw Bucky was staring at him, his smile turned sheepish.

“He was scratching at the door at some point last night. I let him in, and he immediately jumped up into the bed and curled up with you. I didn’t have the heart to move him, and you were still sleeping, so…” Steve trailed off, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“She.” Bucky said distractedly. He was surprised he hadn't woken up at the noises; both of them were really light sleepers for the most part, especially with noises that were out of the usual routine.

“It’s a female?” Steve asked, drawing Bucky’s attention back to the purring cat on top of him.

“I don’t know. I think so? I can’t really tell.” Bucky admitted. As he spoke, the cat made a chirping sound and began to stretch, its front legs reaching all the way to Bucky’s metal arm. He was glad it was the metal arm rather than his flesh one, because the cat’s claws clinked quietly as she stretched her paws. He couldn’t imagine they’d feel good against skin.

“Well, we can always ask when we take it to the vet.” Steve reasoned. Bucky’s heart skipped at beat at the nonchalant way Steve was talking, as if it was already a done deal that they were keeping the cat. 

Steve must have noticed the shift in Bucky’s mood, and quickly mentioned, “There’s breakfast ready in the kitchen. I made pancakes and bacon.”

Bucky nodded mutely, still transfixed by the cat and his own thoughts. Steve tapped the frame of the door twice before disappearing through it. His heart rate started to slow down again as the cat resumed its purring, and Bucky wondered when it had started pounding so hard without him noticing.

“How do you do that?” Bucky asked the cat. He tentatively brought his right hand up to stroke the cat hesitantly. When it looked like he wasn’t going to get bitten, Bucky became bolder, letting his fingers card through the soft fur. Now that the cat was dry again, he could clearly see that the cat was naturally grey, not black. Her eyes were a deep green that made a surprising contrast, something Bucky hadn’t really noticed before.

He’d never really been that close to the cat before either, he supposed. He’d always had other things to think about.

It felt really nice, Bucky decided, to lay there in bed and pet a cat. She would lean into the soft touches and arch her body to mold herself into the perfect position for maximum petting circumference. He could feel her purr right down to his bones, making him want to never stop.

Unfortunately, as much as he didn’t want to move, the cat had other ideas. Still lying down in his chest, she began to knead his chest; Bucky assumed that it wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the claws that occasionally kept sticking into him.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky got the hint.

“Yeah, alright, let’s go eat.”

He scooped her up and held her easily under one arm as he walked barefoot into the kitchen. Steve was sitting at the bar, reading a newspaper, but he set it down when he saw Bucky coming.

“She doesn’t mind being carried like that?” Steve wondered, gesturing to Bucky’s cargo. Bucky looked down and realized that he probably shouldn’t carry a cat the way he was doing— he was supporting her chest, but her hind legs were dangling freely.

Setting her down on the floor, Bucky answered, “I don’t really know what it takes to get her mad, to be honest. Not that I particularly want to find out.” The cat immediately began to weave Bucky’s legs, nearly tripping him as he made his way to a sit on the stool next to Steve.

“Sounds like a cool cat.” Steve replied with a grin.

Bucky coughed out a laugh, startled, and then whacked Steve in the arm.

“You don’t even try to pretend you’re not from the 40’s.” Bucky served himself four pancakes and a generous amount of bacon.

Even though he already had some on his plate, Steve picked a strip from Bucky’s plate, just to be obnoxious, “That was too many negatives, I think.”

“Whatever,” Bucky grumbled as he began to shovel food into his mouth.

Both of them were surprised when the cat suddenly jumped up onto the counter. When she meowed loudly, however, Steve started cracking up.

“I think she’s hungry.” Steve pointed out.

Bucky grabbed a piece of bacon and held it out for the cat. When she didn’t make a move for it, he left it on the counter in front of her. As soon as his hand was far enough away, the cat quickly dropped her head and ate the strip.

“Guess she doesn’t like people handing her things.” Steve took his own bite of food.

Bucky grinned, “Sound like anyone we know?”

Steve simply rolled his eyes in reply.

Bucky cut up a few pieces of pancake and bacon and pushed them towards the cat. She always waited until the food was clear before pouncing on it.

“You know,” Steve began hesitantly, “if we’re going to be having a cat, we’re going to need real cat food.”

Bucky’s throat clicked as he tried to speak, but he suddenly found himself tense and mute. Steve saw his reaction, and was about to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but then the cat brushed past him to step over Bucky’s breakfast and plop herself down on Bucky’s lap. He instinctively brought his knees up and together so that she wouldn’t slide off, and rested his metal hand softly on top of her, making sure she was secured. Within seconds, she was purring again.

It took a few more forcefully even breaths before Bucky finally pulled himself together enough to agree, “Yeah. I’ll go get some later, then.”

He couldn’t stop staring at the cat.

Steve hummed a note before collecting the dirty plates to put them in the sink.

“Shit,” Bucky suddenly remembered, “I forgot the soup in the microwave.” Looking up, he saw Steve was smiling softly at him. “What?”

“Nothing, “Steve said, shaking his head. With that, he turned around and opened the microwave, chuckling at the cold bowl of soup he found. As he started taking care of it, he called over his shoulder, “Hey, Buck. I’m going to go for a run with Sam in a couple of minutes. Wanna come with?”

Bucky thought about it. He’d been doing better lately about going out with the two of them, but some days were still harder to pluck up enough courage to face the streets. Today might have been one of those days, but he couldn’t help but feel settled with the cat purring so contently on him.

“Umm, I think I’m going to go buy that cat food now.” Bucky knew that if he waited until later, it’d only get harder to psych himself up again.

“Sounds good.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Ugh, stop sounding so proud, it’s making me sick.”

Steve brought a hand to his heart in mock-offense before sticking his tongue out at Bucky.

Bucky just flipped him off, other hand still securely holding the cat.

*

The cat was gone when Bucky came back with the food.

It didn’t help that Steve was also gone, running with Sam. The combination of the stress of going out, not having Steve there to mitigate his panic, and realizing that he really shouldn’t let himself hope, just made the resulting anxiety attack worse than usual.

He knew that he wasn’t supposed to want the cat, wasn’t supposed to want anything, that this was what happened when he let himself get soft. He would never stop being punished for trying to be a normal person, because he _wasn’t_ a normal person.

(He wasn’t a _person_. At least that’s what his treacherous mind liked to keep whispering to him.)

Curled up on the floor, the cat food still in its plastic bag a foot away, Bucky wondered vaguely that this was the sort of thing he was supposed to call Steve about. Or even Sam. They would always pick up the phone and come rushing back to pick up whatever pieces Bucky broke into. They hadn’t needed to in a long time, hadn’t ever been a regular thing anyway, but they were still there, a safety net to catch him. Unfortunately for Bucky, he just couldn’t make himself fish out the damn phone out of his pocket.

He just laid there, heart hammering too hard against his chest, eyes staring blankly into the carpet he’d recently become good friends with, and mind going too fast to follow with thoughts that just twisted tighter and tighter until he was dizzy with it. Every time he closed his eyes, the world tilted too far and kept spinning, throwing him around like a rag doll despite how still he forced himself to be. Even breathing was hard to remember sometimes, and he’d suddenly gasp for air, forgetting to inhale.

Something scratchy and wet enveloped his fingertips, and Bucky twitched. The incongruity of the sensation startled him into focusing for a moment before slipping away, only to snap back. It was exhausting to constantly switch back and forth, but Bucky let it happen. The continuous reconnection attempts weren’t something new, Bucky was well aware of how much work it took to come back from the edge. This new method of coming back, however, wasn’t was he was used to.

It finally dawned on him that something was licking him.

Not only that, but it was a cat. The cat. _His_ cat.

Shifting his face down was effortful, but Bucky forced himself to look. The little grey cat had plopped down next to him, her front legs tucked under herself, and was currently licking his fingers.

His human fingers.

He didn’t know why his brain kept stuttering on that. Could the cat tell he could only feel that texture with one hand? Did she know that Bucky was spiraling out of control? Did she hear Bucky and come running? Why would she stay?

Bucky wanted to smack himself. The cat was probably just hungry and was asking for food. Of course she wasn’t going to lick the metal hand, because it’s _metal_. The human fingers probably tasted better anyway. Who the fuck wanted to put something metal in their mouths? Certainly not a cat. Probably not a cat. He didn’t think a cat would.

He then spent a few moments contemplating whether the cat could care about whether Bucky was totally present in his mind or not before realizing that he was okay.

He was actually okay.

The cat kept licking him, occasionally looking up to blink slowly at Bucky, and he realized he’d been stringing coherent thoughts together for a few minutes. The comfort of not being alone had slowly pulled Bucky out of his dark headspace without him even realizing it.

Slowly curling over onto his side, Bucky reached for the cat with his metal arm and tugged her closer. She made a soft chirping sound, but was otherwise nonchalant about being manipulated into lying against Bucky’s chest, her head brushing under his chin.

He was still lying on the floor, petting the cat when Steve and Sam walked into the apartment.

“—unless it’s been torn a—woah. Bucky?” Steve stopped himself short when he took in the scene.

Sam nearly ran into Steve’s back. “Hey man, you ok?”

Bucky made a thumbs-up, the tiny metal plates shifting. “Better now. Just hanging out.” He was well aware of what he looked like on the floor, and what conclusions they would— correctly— come to. He didn’t think he needed to tell them that he hadn’t felt steady enough to try to get up yet; he was taking it one step at a time, and honestly, he was fine on the floor, especially since he was able to pet the cat. She hadn’t moved from where he’d put her, and that alone was enough to make him feel slightly human again.

Steve walked over to Bucky and sat down within eye-sight. He reached over with a hand and brushed a few strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. “You need anything?” His face was earnest and open, and Bucky appreciated the offer, and the fact that Steve was being so calm at the moment. He did not miss the days when Steve would get just as panicked as Bucky during an anxiety attack. They’d moved on since then, and Bucky was grateful for the solidity that Steve could provide. 

“Water?” Bucky asked. His throat clicked when he tried to swallow, realizing he was really thirsty.

Steve nodded and was about to push himself up when Sam made a sound, “Uh-uh, you stay down there Wonder Boy. I can grab the drinks.” He rummaged through the fridge and grabbed a few water bottles and Gatorades before bringing them over. He handed one to Bucky before sitting down next to Steve.

Bucky was pathetically grateful when he saw that the water bottle had a spout instead of a cap. It meant he didn’t even have to prop himself up to drink, he could just lay there like a child. Which was what he did and he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

“Nice cat.” Sam said after chugging down half a bottle of red Gatorade. “Never would’ve pegged you as a cat person. But I guess it makes sense that you’d end up as an old lady with fifty cats.” Sam winked at Bucky, his tone completely friendly. Sam knew perfectly well how shaky Bucky’s frame of mind was at the moment, and he never failed to make the right jokes to lighten the mood.

Bucky for his part, cracked half a smile and rolled his eyes. He would have flipped him off, but he was still holding his water with one hand, and petting the cat with the other.

“What are you even doing here, Wilson?” Bucky grumbled. The cat shifted and then settled again. Bucky scratched behind her ears.

“Had to make sure your boy here got home safe and in one piece. There’s no telling what sort of mischief he’d get himself into without supervision.” Sam clapped Steve’s shoulder.

“He does do that.” Bucky grinned at Steve’s indignant snort.

“The Falcon here offered to make us lunch.” Steve said, shrugging off Sam’s hand. “You know where the kitchen is.”

“You wound me, Rogers.”

“Put your money where your mouth is. I’m hungry.”

Bucky let their gentle bickering wash over him, feeling more secure with each moment. They weren’t treating him like glass, and they weren’t trying to baby-proof him either. It let Bucky decompress faster, and sort through the mess in his head. He snapped back into paying attention when he heard his name. Judging by Steve’s face, he’d said it a couple times.

“’Sup?” Bucky mumbled.

“I’m going to go take a shower while Sam bakes for a bit. If you need anything, just let him know, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Steve bent over and dropped a kiss on Bucky’s forehead before getting up and making his way to the bedroom. Sam took over Steve’s spot, crouching.

“You want to help me put things together? Or you going to pass up working with a work of art like me?” Sam’s hands hung loosely in between his knees as he waited to see if Bucky would take the bait today.

Bucky blinked slowly. “Why work when I can look?”

Sam clicked his tongue and pointed a finger-gun at Bucky, making Bucky relax at the silly gesture. “Touché, my friend. Any objections to type of music?”

Bucky shook his head.

Sam smirked, “Then no complaining.”

With that, Sam got up and plugged his phone into the speakers Bucky had finally convinced Steve to buy a few months ago.

Bucky didn’t expect the soft folk music, but he quickly found that it was very calming. He stayed curled on the floor, the cat still cuddled up against him, while Sam busied himself in the kitchen. The sounds of cooking didn’t overwhelm the music, and Bucky found the movements of life in the apartment were comforting. He could hear the shower running, and he knew Steve wouldn’t be much longer.

He looked down at the cat when she meowed at him.

“What?”

She meowed again, and set a paw on his face.

Bucky couldn’t help the small burst of laughter at the act. “Okay, okay. I get it. Time to move my ass.”

She meowed again, and Bucky sighed. Taking a deep breath, he rolled onto his hands and knees, framing the cat between his hands. With a push, he knelt up. He saw that someone, probably Sam, had picked up the grocery bag, taken out the cat food and set it on the counter. Sam himself had his back turned to Bucky and was currently stirring something on the stove.

All of a sudden, Bucky was hit with the smell of cooking, and he wondered how he’d missed it before. It was some sort of tomato sauce, he realized, and his stomach suddenly growled. He hadn’t even noticed he was hungry. How long had he been lying down?

He begrudgingly looked at the clock and winced. He’d gone out for the food three hours ago.

It wasn’t the longest time he’d accidentally let slip, but that wasn’t exactly a good thing.

He looked down when he felt the cat rubbing up against him, arching her back. She purred when he stroked her back.

“You’re insatiable.” He murmured. She didn’t care.

He picked her up in the crook of his arm as he got up and made his way to the couch. Just getting up had been exhausting enough, and he sat down on a cushion while setting the cat in his lap. She just curled up again, and Bucky wondered if that was all she ever did.

“Shower’s free.” Steve announced as he walked in while toweling his hair.

“Yeah alright, give me a minute. I’m going to put this in the oven.” Sam said, and Bucky realized he’d put the sauce in a pan filled with what looked like some sort of pasta.

“What are you making, anyway?” Bucky wondered.

Sam looked up and flashed him a grin, “Lasagna. The good kind, with extra meat.”

Steve draped his towel over the back of a chair before coming over to sit on the other side of the couch where Bucky was. “Smells great, Sam. Thank you.”

“You’re not allowed to touch it until it’s done.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I can do just fine in the kitchen, Sam.”

“You burned ramen. The instant noodle kind. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

“Go take your shower. You stink.”

“Bucky, keep him away from my food.” Sam ordered.

Bucky gave him a half-salute. “Aye, aye.”

When Sam had gone, Steve looked over at Bucky. “You wanna talk?” He purposely kept his tone light, Bucky could tell. He would let Bucky off the hook if that was what Bucky wanted.

That wasn’t what Bucky wanted.

“Can I keep her?” He kept his eyes on the cat, too nervous all of a sudden, to see Steve’s reaction.

There was a small stretch of silence, where Bucky assumed Steve was trying to figure out what to say. He tried not to fidget.

“I was under the impression that was the plan.” He said it so gently and matter of fact, that Bucky caught his breath. Bucky finally looked up at Steve and realized he was too far away, so he scooted closer, cat hanging on, until he was next to Steve who opened his arms. Bucky immediately leaned in, letting Steve wrap his arms around him. The cat made a chirping noise. Bucky didn’t even know cats made sounds like that.

“She wasn’t here when I came back. I didn’t see her, and I thought…that. I thought I couldn’t…I wanted her, Steve, and…” His words were halting, but Steve waited him out. “I didn’t know I wanted her so much.” Bucky finished quietly.

“Then let’s give her a home.”

Bucky nodded, refusing to acknowledge the way his eyes watered slightly. Instead he shifted his weight heavier onto Steve and held the cat tighter. The three of them stayed like that for a few minutes until they heard the shower shut off.

“Did you know that Sam hates cats?” Steve whispered into Bucky’s hair.

Bucky froze, then slowly twisted his head to look up at Steve. “It’s true. He told me when I mentioned your cat.”

Bucky felt the way a twitch of a smile stretched into a full-blown mischievous grin as plots and traps started forming in his mind. The possibilities were multiplying so quickly he nearly missed the way his stomach gave a flutter at realizing Steve had said ‘your cat’, as if it was a foregone conclusion that the cat was his. Steve chuckled when he saw the look on Bucky’s face.

“Oh boy. That can’t be good.”

Bucky reached up and kissed him, a quick thing before breathing out, “You knew it and you still said it.”

Steve groaned and Bucky kissed him again.

“Can we at least eat lunch first?” Steve begged.

*

Bucky was utterly and completely in love with the cat.

They took it to the vet the next day, and the doctor confirmed that yes, the cat was a female. Bucky felt like a bit of tension unspooled when he realized he’d been worried about having thought he might have been accidentally calling the cat by the wrong gender.

Steve had cracked up when Bucky told him, and really, that just made everything better.

But apparently she was completely healthy and clean, though no collar or tags or chips were to be found that might have indicated she was someone else’s pet. They had no idea if she’d had her shots before, so they decided to revaccinate her, just to be on the safe side.

“Would you like to chip her?” The vet had asked. Bucky had gone pale and couldn’t help the slight tremor that started up in his hand. The thought of cutting into her and implanting something, even as benign as a chip, was nearly enough to throw Bucky into a tailspin, even though he should have known the question had to be asked.

Luckily, Steve noticed right away and simply grabbed the cat and shoved her right into Bucky’s arms, startling him into holding her, while smoothly deflecting with the doctor.

“Not today. But we would like a collar, do you sell those here?”

By the time the doctor left the two of them to peruse the office’s limited variety of collars, Bucky was nearly calm again; something about holding the cat and being allowed to pet her just let Bucky relax and breathe.

“What do you think of this one? Or should we just go to a pet store?” Steve asked, picking up a luridly pink collar. It was soft and had a silver heart button as adornment in addition to the blank tag. Bucky immediately loved it.

“I want it.” Bucky breathed, and that was enough for Steve.

“We can have the tag engraved. We’re going to have to name her, though. Unless you want to keep calling her ‘Cat’?”

“No, I think I know what her name should be.” Bucky tucked his face against her fur and grinned, watching Steve as he raised an eyebrow. “Sam.”

Steve was still laughing while the tag was being engraved.

*

The human Sam didn’t think it was so funny, and the whole thing was endlessly amusing for Bucky.

“Man, why you gotta be like that?” Sam groaned, eyeing the new pink collar that was currently adorning cat-Sam’s neck.

She looked really cute, if Bucky said so himself. The pink somehow complimented her gray fur, and she didn’t seem to mind wearing a collar. She had let him put it on her without fuss, and then didn’t try to take it off after a couple exploratory scratches from her hind leg.

“You look beautiful, Sam.” Bucky told the cat as he rubbed her belly.

“That’s just cold.”

Bucky looked up to see human-Sam’s scandalized expression, and then amended, “I’m sorry. You look beautiful too, Sam.”

“I fucking hate you so much.”

Steve was still laughing from where he was listening in the kitchen.

After that, Bucky decided that they could nickname the cat ‘Sammy’ so as not to confuse everyone.

Human-Sam was not amused, but at least placated.

Cat-Sam didn’t care one way or another.

Steve had to go change his shirt after Sam threw a glass of water at him for still laughing.

Bucky couldn’t remember grinning so much before.

*

Steve had a theory that Sammy was just as in love with Bucky as he was with her. He had actually made a list— something Bucky teased him about every time he saw it— in one of his sketch books that he kept adding on as little things popped up. Number one on the list was that Sammy was never far from Bucky when they were both in the apartment. She never failed to somehow be in the same room as him, up to, and including, the bathroom. Steve had walked in on Bucky taking a shower, and Sammy had been sitting patiently on the shower mat, staring up at the shower curtain.

The cat loved Bucky.

But, Bucky found out soon after taking her in, the cat did not seem to like Steve so much. It wasn’t hate, because she was the chillest animal Bucky had ever met; she never bared her teeth or hissed at him, and certainly never swiped at him, but Bucky was absolutely sure that Sammy was somehow passive-aggressive towards Steve.

She never offered to lie down next to or on Steve, nor did she seem to appreciate it when he tried to pet her. If she could, she would simply get up and walk away from him, or if she was in Bucky’s lap, she would almost try to melt into Bucky to avoid Steve.

Steve just laughed about it, saying he guessed he wasn’t really much of a cat person. It never seemed to bother him.

Until two weeks later when Bucky was out of the apartment with Natasha; they were at a Russian bar, celebrating one of Natasha’s many anniversaries that she came up with for herself, and Steve had elected to stay home that night.

Bucky had thought nothing of leaving the cat home alone with Steve, but when he came home that night, Bucky was perplexed to see that Steve was covered in scratches in various states of healing. There were a few that Bucky knew would have required stitches for anyone else. Steve’s expression was caught between trauma and bewilderment; Bucky was burning with curiosity to know what the hell could have happened in the two hours he’d been gone.

Sammy, for her part, simply slinked her way past a shell-shocked Steve until she was threading Bucky’s legs.

“Umm…” Bucky began eloquently.

“Bucky, I love you. I love that you love the cat. But I am never going to be alone with the cat ever again.” Steve vowed seriously.

With that, he turned around and walked into the bedroom. A minute later, Bucky heard the shower running.

Looking down at the innocent act Sammy was putting up, he whispered, “What the fuck happened?”

Sammy meowed at him in answer.

Bucky never quite figured out what happened that night.

*

 Sam, on the other hand, was vaguely liked. It was either that, or Sammy knew that Sam didn’t like cats and went out of her way to annoy him, Bucky reasoned. She always tried to curl up on Sam whenever he came over, and the look of pain on Sam’s face was the highlight of Bucky’s night, so he never tried to stop her.

*

Sammy was the ruler of the house, completely in control of the apartment.

Steve had long since learned deference to where the cat was sleeping or sitting— something that felt more like he did out of some self-perseverance more than anything— and would simply find a new spot so as not to bother the cat.

Bucky, on the other hand, felt no such reluctance and would happily scoop her up in his arms and plop her down wherever. Usually on top of him. He nearly always let the cat lay on him wherever he was.

They also began to buy the good kind of cat food, because Bucky was determined his cat have the best. Steve just chuckled and went along with it, but Bucky knew he sometimes would sneak in some other foods like fish and meats into her bowl, so he knew he wasn’t the only one pampering the cat.

Bucky had anticipated Sammy scratching up all the furniture, or destroying the toilet paper, or something like what most cats do, so he bought a scratching post for her. It was pretty tall and looked more like a jungle gym than anything, with crevices and a box-like-thing for her to rest in or climb. But to both Bucky and Steve’s surprise, she never used it to scratch, nor did she destroy anything. She loved the post, but as a napping area. Bucky even double-checked to make sure she still had her claws, but he never once saw marks anywhere in the apartment.

“She must be using the post, Steve.” Bucky had tried to reason. “It’s not like we file her claws, and they’re not that sharp, so how the fuck are they so short?”

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve answered, eyeing the cat who was lazily swatting at a toy that was hanging from one of the branches of the post. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.” He looked slightly unsettled by the thought, as if he didn’t really want to know how Sammy was keeping her claws so nice and neat.

They did figure out soon after that Sammy had an odd quirk. Underwear and socks began to mysteriously go missing, and they had no idea where. It wasn’t until Steve saw her with a sock in her mouth that he realized Sammy was the culprit, but they still hadn’t found her stash.

“It’s not like this apartment is that big.” Bucky had wondered out loud as he ate cereal one morning. “We’ve already checked everywhere.”

Sammy only swished her tail as she blinked at Bucky from where she was lying down on the counter. Bucky and Steve were resigned to leave it as another mystery they wouldn’t get to solve any time soon.

*

Steve invested in a lot of hair-removal rolls.

*

Bucky still used the fire escape for the nights when even Sammy couldn’t pull him out of a funk. At first, he’d tried to keep the cat inside, terrified that she would disappear if he let her out, but when he heard her meowing at the window for ten minutes straight, he felt so guilty about keeping her locked up. He wanted to be selfish and keep her all to himself, but it wasn’t fair, and Bucky couldn’t bear to be her guard. Guardian, yes, but he kept stumbling over that distinction.

So he let her out, heart pounding hard in his chest. It eased up when she just curled in his lap, and he couldn’t help wiping at his face when tears of relief welled up.

After that, it became easier to let her out with him. She generally hung out with him out there, either on him, or near him. Sometimes she would go exploring, though, climbing up or down the stairs and disappearing for a while. Each time, Bucky had to remind himself it was okay, and each time she would always come back to him.

It helped that on the days Bucky was really struggling with a nightmare or memory, Sammy would stay with him rather than go exploring. Bucky appreciated it more than he could say.

*

One time, Sammy came trotting up to Steve who was sitting at the kitchen table, sketching. She effortlessly jumped up onto the table, and walked over to sit right on Steve’s sketchbook. Steve looked up, surprised at the unprovoked attention, and then yelled, scrambling backwards when she delicately dropped her present of a cockroach in front of him.

It was still alive.

Steve spent that night at Sam’s when Bucky couldn’t stop laughing, wheezing and breathless.

*

 “Fuck yes…” Bucky moaned as Steve snapped his hips hard. He felt so full and settled with Steve pinning down both of his hands above his head. His left arm shifted slightly, but Steve just held tighter and pushed in implacably.

“God, Bucky, you feel so good.” Steve panted out before bending down to kiss him messily. Bucky surged upwards to meet him, needing to taste him and feel him. His own cock was leaking steadily against Steve’s stomach, and he couldn’t decide between rutting up against him and moving his hips to take more of him in.

Steve growled, low and possessive, and shifted Bucky’s wrists into one hand so his free hand could come down and grip Bucky’s hips hard, pulling him in to change the angle slightly.

Bucky cried out when Steve started hitting his prostate, and he couldn’t help begging, “Please, please, Steve, touch me, I can’t— Steve,”

“I got you, I got you,” Steve murmured, releasing his grip, and Bucky knew there would be finger-shaped bruises there. Bucky didn’t care, especially not when Steve finally gripped him and started stroking him roughly. A helpless moan pushed out of him as he tottered on the edge of orgasm, and he just needed a little bit more, _right there!_ he was so close, he could feel it, he was about to, just _a little bit more_ and then—

Steve cried out in surprise and Bucky’s face was suddenly covered in fur.

“Oh my fucking god what the fuck.” Steve cursed, and Bucky felt him pulling out gently but quickly. He tried to protest, but his head reeled from his almost-orgasm and the sudden lack of oxygen he was receiving from the weight on his face covering his mouth, nose, and eyes. He was honestly too confused by what the fuck had just happened. Not that he knew what the fuck had just happened.

Luckily, Steve came to the rescue and plucked the weight off of Bucky’s face. Panting, Bucky opened his eyes to a very naked and sweaty Steve holding Sammy at an arm’s length with the most confused and frustrated expression on his face. Bucky could relate because his cock actually hurt with the denial, and his mind was still trying to reconcile the interruption with reality.

“Not quite how I envisioned the evening ending.” Bucky managed to say, his head swimming too much for more coherent thoughts.

“Your cat just cockblocked us.” Steve said, looking almost shell-shocked. His eyes were a bit too wide, pupils still too dilated, and Bucky knew he was just as confused by the interruption as he was.

 Sammy, for her part, looked put out that Steve was holding her, and she meowed her discomfort. That was the last straw for Bucky, apparently, who burst out in nervous laughter. Steve didn’t call him out on the slight hysterical tone his laughter was melting into because he himself dissolved into ridiculous giggles.

“What the actual fuck.” Steve gasped out between breaths. When Sammy meowed indignantly again, Steve looked almost surprised as if he’d forgotten he was still holding her. He wasn’t all too graceful as he tossed her onto the side of the bed, and Bucky curled up, his sides aching with how much he was still laughing.

Steve laid down next to Bucky and rested his forehead against Bucky’s back, breath raising goosebumps as his sweat turned cold. He finally quieted down when he gave a shiver. Turning over, he pulled Steve flush against him, trying to get warm again.

“We’re locking the door, next time.” Steve promised, his cheeks still flushed with mirth and embarrassment. Bucky nodded in agreement, and Steve reached down to pull the sheets over the both of them. Sammy carefully picked her way over the bed until she was between them, and Steve gave another huff of laughter.

“Yeah, I get it. He’s your man.”

“She’s gotta learn how to share.” Bucky pointed out, reaching a hand out to pet the cat.

Steve smiled and kissed Bucky before resting heavily on the pillow with a groan. “Talk about delayed gratification. Who needs cock rings when you have a cat.”

Bucky chuckled, too tired to think of anything witty to say. They laid there in silence for a few minutes before Bucky complained, “Fuck, I’m still horny though. But I want a nap too.”

“I’m not doing all the work, you have to be at least semi-conscious.” Steve said seriously, and Bucky snorted.

“Ugh, fine. Nap first, finish fucking my brains out after.”

“Good plan. Cat’s not invited though.”

“Agreed.”

*

He really should have seen it coming. It was his own damn fault for having the volume on so loud from listening to music earlier. As it were, he forgot to turn down the volume, and so when a stupid ad popped up on his laptop, blaring ridiculous alert noises into the silent bedroom, he really wasn’t surprised when Sammy startled badly.

She had been sleeping on his chest while he surfed the internet while lying on the bed. Now she was hiding under the bed, and Bucky was sporting really deep claw marks on his chest from where she’d been spooked.

“Fuck, that hurts.” Bucky whined as he gingerly pressed his fingertips to the scratches. His fingers came away red with blood, and he sighed as he heaved himself up to go take care of it in the bathroom.

He couldn’t even blame Sammy, seeing as it was his own damn fault for having clicked on the stupid link that was clearly clickbait. Steve had warned him against it, and wasn’t that rich? Steve, who fell for every scam the internet had to offer, knowing well enough that clickbait even existed…

It didn’t take long to clean up his chest, the wounds already prickling with healing, but he did feel a little sad about his ruined t-shirt; it had been one of his favorites— a Captain America shield with a starfish instead of a star in the middle.

Sighing, he left the shirt on the sink and went back in the bedroom to grab another. After that, he got on his hands and knees and peered under the bed to see two reflective eyes staring back at him.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. That was my bad.” Bucky apologized.

Sammy meowed mournfully at him.

“I know. It was an accident. Come on, I promise it won’t happen again.”

Another meow.

Bucky sighed again and nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, dude.”

Later that night, if Bucky was more generous with giving Sammy more people-food, well, Steve didn’t call him out on it.

*

Bucky was taking a shower when he heard the door open, and Steve murmuring, “No, stop, not you.”

He pulled the curtain back in time to see Steve very gently pushing Sammy out of the bathroom with his foot while trying to close the door at the same time. It was doubly funny when Bucky realized that Sammy had laid down on the tile and Steve was essentially sliding the cat away.

When he finally shut the door with the cat on the other side, Steve turned around and leaned his back against the door.

“So much for sneaking in for surprise sex.”

Bucky laughed at the serious way Steve said it, his brow actually furrowed. But at hearing Bucky’s laugh, Steve’s expression smoothed out and a happy, goofy grin to its place.

“Planned sex is sexy too, Steve.” Bucky said, pulling the curtain back a little further in invitation. Steve didn’t hesitate in shucking off his shirt with one arm, and then shimmying out of his pants in three seconds flat before joining Bucky in the shower. The fact that he hadn’t even been wearing underwear just made Bucky raise an eyebrow.

“Any sex with you is sexy, Buck.” Steve breathed, goosebumps breaking out all over when the hot water hit his bare body. They both loved cranking the water as hot as it could go for the simple joy of feeling warm.

“You’re not so bad to look at either, Rogers.”

“Thank you for the confidence.” Steve crowded Bucky and then ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head like a dog, and making Bucky huff out a laugh at Steve’s antics.

The next moment, however, his laugh was chased away with a hard kiss, one of Steve’s hands coming behind his neck in a possessive gesture while the other pulled him in at the hip. Within seconds, Bucky was breathless and already getting hard. With a knowing smirk, Steve broke the kiss to look down. The hand by his hip came around to brush a finger up the length of Bucky’s cock. Bucky couldn’t help moaning and twitching his hips forward, chasing the maddeningly light touch, and bringing his own hands to Steve’s chest before sliding up to hold on to his shoulders.

“Fuck me, Steve.” Bucky breathed, hips twitching again. When he looked down and saw Steve was just as affected, he whimpered out, “Please.”

Steve didn’t need any more than that before turning Bucky around and pushing him up against a wall. Bucky hissed at the shock of cold against his front, such a sharp contrast against his overheated skin, but Steve didn’t give him enough time to get used to the discrepancy before kicking at his ankles to spread him out and settling his knee in between his legs. Bucky was dizzy at the onslaught of sensations; Steve’s palm settled between Bucky’s shoulders, pinning him against the wall, his knee brushing threateningly against his balls, his cock trapped between his own body and the wall, Steve’s hand gripping punishingly hard at his hip, and then his teeth, biting sharp points of pain on his shoulders.

Bucky could only moan his enthusiasm, and then he shuddered hard when he felt Steve’s fingers replace his knee. He wasn’t too gentle about it, efficiently opening Bucky up, heedless of Bucky’s writhing and pitiful gasps.

It didn’t take long before Steve grew impatient and pulled Bucky’s hips back to adjust the angle, and then his cockhead was nudging his hole, a promise.

“C’mon, do it,” Bucky hissed, impatient himself, especially when Steve dragged the moment on. Bucky knew he was doing it on purpose, teasing Bucky, and it killed him how much he loved and hated it.

“Ask nicely.” Steve’s voice was already hoarse with arousal, and Bucky tried to push backwards, but Steve held him implacably still.

“Put your fucking dick in my ass, Rogers.” Bucky growled, meaning to sound demanding, but he barely finished the sentence before Steve was pushing in, cutting off his breath with a groan.

He felt like was being split in two, filled up to the brim and then some. Steve just kept going, and it felt so thorough and real; Bucky didn’t even care about the water dripping into his eyes, only that Steve keep going and never stop, never pull away, never leave him. When he felt Steve’s hips flushed against his, Bucky’s knees suddenly went weak, but Steve was everywhere, and he took a step forward, effortlessly pinning him completely against the wall with his whole body.

Bucky felt perfect, and then he heard the echoes of Steve whispering that exact same sentiment in his ear, and he never wanted the moment to end, it was so good.

Then Steve started moving.

Bucky lost his breath again, his entire world shifting into urgency and heat as Steve picked up a pace he could barely follow, only ride it out and let it happen. His nipples were being rubbed against the cool wall, and the feeling just went straight down to his heavy cock, still trapped and slipping between his body and the tiles. He didn’t know if it was slippery from the shower or his own precome at that point.

Each snap of Steve’s hips just ratcheted Bucky’s arousal higher and higher, until he couldn’t help but whimper, the sound echoing in the small bathroom. 

But of course, as per their usual frenzies, Bucky felt himself edging closer to orgasm and Steve must have known somehow, because his grip got tighter, and he began to purposefully angle his thrusts against his prostate, and then Bucky was lost, wailing hoarsely into the wall.

Steve came almost immediately after, leaving bruises on his hips, but Bucky was too out of it to do anything but stand there, half-held up on shaking legs.

They stood there together for a moment, breathing hard and holding tight, and then Bucky felt Steve press a light kiss on Bucky’s shoulder, right on the metal next to where it became flesh. Bucky whined in his throat before his legs gave up on him.

Steve caught him and then let them both down gently; as soon as Bucky’s ass touched the floor, though, he immediately shifted uncomfortably, too freshly sore to handle sitting. Steve chuckled, and then helped move their positions until Steve was sitting with his back against the wall, and Bucky was half-sprawled across his lap. They stayed like that for a few moments, panting and catching their breath, while the shower rained down on them both.

When he’d finally caught his breath, Bucky hummed happily, sighing contently. He felt Steve do the same, before Steve spoke up.

“The cat ate some of that plant next to the dining table.”

“What the fuck, Steve.”

“She threw it up in your shoes. Thought you might want to know.”

“I hate you.”

*

As much as the cat had her chaotic or awkward moments, they loved having her around. Bucky adored her, of course, but even Steve appreciated her, if only because Bucky did.

Bucky still had nightmares, of course. Both of them did, really, but much to both of their surprises, having the cat helped out a lot.

She always seemed to instinctively know when she was needed, and would curl up on or near Bucky after a bad night. Bucky just had to pet her and for the most part he calmed down quickly. Most of the time he was able to turn around and go back to sleep.

With Steve, she served as a reminder that everything was okay, and that they were in the 21st century. She had the ability to snap him to the present or point out the lies that nightmares brought, simply by existing. Steve didn’t know why or how it worked, only that it did, and that was enough for him.

Bucky also noticed that he didn’t smoke as much as he used to. He realized it one night he was out on the fire escape curled in a sweater as the night air cooled his cheeks. He hadn’t felt the need to light one up in a while, and even then he hadn’t smoked that much.

Of course, that was something that Steve would never mention, but Bucky knew that he appreciated it all the same. It was little things that Sammy influenced that seemed like innocuous changes, but that ended up helping their lives in the apartment in the long run. A therapist had once suggested Bucky get a dog, and Bucky had dismissed the idea immediately, never believing for one second that he could keep a dog alive long enough to reap any benefits it could have brought.

Now he knew better.

*

“She’s always so sad when we leave.” Bucky said mournfully as he tied his shoes. He was going running with Steve and Sam, and Sammy wouldn’t stop meowing as they got ready. She did that every single time they left the house together for a long period of time; though that was subjective— apparently thirty minutes was too long for Sammy, let alone a few hours to go running.

“You could always see if she’s a running cat.” Steve joked while he zipped up his jacket. It was cold enough to warrant one now, but not too cold as to really bother the two of them. Yet.

Bucky laughed as he envisioned Sammy running alongside the three of them. “She’d probably end up just keeping Sam company, to be honest.”

“Probably. Speaking of, he’s waiting at the curb.” He grabbed the keys and opened the front door.

Bucky finished tying his shoes and gave Sammy a last pat before following Steve out. He tried not to let Sammy’s sad call get him down as he called back towards her, “We’ll be back soon.”

Steve had no qualms about shutting the door in her face, though, and soon they were going down the stairs.

It wasn’t until they reached the 5th story landing that Bucky stopped. Steve didn’t notice until halfway down the next flight of stairs, and then doubled-backed. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I know you were joking, but what if Sammy is a running cat?” Bucky wondered, half-crazy ideas trying to form into something coherent in his mind.

Steve cocked his head and hesitated for a moment. “Bucky, she sleeps all day and doesn’t like moving. I highly doubt she’d appreciate it if she had to walk, let alone run. And that’s _if_ she knew enough to stay with us.”

“They have leashes for cats.” Bucky pointed out distractedly. “It’s like a harness.”

“You could always try it…?” Steve trailed off uncertainly.

“I want to try it.” Bucky said decisively.

“Wait ‘till Sam hears this one.” Steve muttered under his breath.

“I heard that, you dick.”

*

It turned out that no, Sammy was not a running cat. She was, however, a hiking cat. Bucky was overly delighted by this new discovery, and soon they were all hiking a couple times a month, going up north of the city for the day. Sammy was a great outdoor cat, and soon didn’t even really need the harness-leash. She knew to stay nearby, though they didn’t really risk it when there were other people with dogs around.

Their favorite was climbing, though. Hiking up hills and mountains began as an exercise in seeing who could climb the fastest that morphed into who could climb the fanciest, to the point that Sam banned their “excessive superhero parkour.”

*

“Look at what I bought online.” Bucky was bouncing, giddy as he waved Steve over. Steve laughed, putting down the keys and shrugging out of his coat— he’d barely gotten in through the door before Bucky began talking to him.

“Give me a sec.”

“Nooooo,” Bucky whined, “Come here now!”

Steve grinned at Bucky’s behavior and quickly took off his boots before coming over to the couch where Bucky was patting vigorously next to him, as if Steve would sit anywhere else.

“It came in earlier, and I haven’t put it down since.” Proudly, Bucky showed his prize. “It’s a fidget cube! Look, it has all these really cool things on each side, like you can click this,” Bucky demonstrated by pressing his thumb on the button and clicking each one, “Or do this,” Bucky turned the cube to another face and flicked the switch on and off, “Or this,” he demonstrated another side that could spin. He quickly showed Steve the other three sides, and then looked up to see Steve’s reaction.

“That’s really cool, Bucky.” Steve’s voice held a note of awe that Bucky had been expecting. Without further prompting, Bucky handed the cube over so Steve could examine it easier.

“See? The future totally has some cool things.”

“You don’t say,” Steve deadpanned. He ruined it by not quite hiding his amazed smile as he tried every side of the cube.

“And…” Bucky sing-songed, “I got something for you too.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and pretended to pocket the cube.

“Nope, that one is mine, but this one,” Bucky pulled something out from under a pillow, “is yours.” He dropped the item into Steve’s outstretched hand, and watched as Steve’s eyes and grin widened.

“What is it?” He asked, not tearing his eyes away.

“It’s a spinner. Look,” He took it back and demonstrated, holding the middle part with his thumb and forefinger, and spinning it with his other finger. The spinner was metal and spun for a long time, emitting a metallic whir. “It’s kind of like a gyroscope.”

“I love it.” Steve said, taking it back from Bucky so he could try. He spun it, and then was mesmerized.

The spinner was circular and convex, but the highlight was the Captain America shield that was painted on, with the rings in a spiral formation. That way, when it spun, it looked like it was always corkscrewing.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve said seriously, stopping the spinner and turning to kiss him.

Bucky simply kissed him back in reply, and then it didn’t take them very long to forget about the new presents as they began to tear at each other’s clothes.

Later, Bucky saw Steve using the spinner as he sketched, and he wondered if he’d just saved a lot of pencils from being ruined.

*

One lazy Sunday morning, Bucky was sprawled out on the bed, belly down and feet lightly kicking the headboard. Resting his head in the crook of his human arm, he had an eye cracked open as he watched their little TV that was perched on the dresser. They didn’t normally use it, preferring the bigger and better quality one in the living room, but Bucky had seen this tiny old one at a garage sale, and impulsively bought it after falling in love. Steve had no objections, and there it was.

Bucky didn’t even remember when he’d turned it on.

Sammy was lying by his side, stretched out with her back against his ribs. She was purring contently and would occasionally flip around to knead Bucky through his sweater. They finally had to turn on the heater to chase out the chill that would linger a little too long in the mornings.

When he heard the shower kick on, Bucky finally realized he wasn’t actually watching anything, rather he was mostly dozing on and off. He vaguely remembered Steve going for an absurdly early run, and coming in a little bit ago. He hadn’t even realized Steve had moved through the bedroom to head towards the bathroom; he felt too comfortable in his bed and too safe to be alerted to every sound in the apartment.

And too sleepy, apparently.

The next time he was aware, he saw that Steve had already showered and dried off, seeing as he had fresh new clothes on and was sitting in the corner chair, watching Bucky, and sketching.

“Mmm, what are you drawing?” Bucky mumbled, letting his eyes shut closed again. He felt Sammy inch up closer to his face, so he flopped his metal arm out to tug her in closer. Sammy didn’t protest, and then Bucky was petting her distractedly.

“Just a little something.” Steve said quietly. Bucky scoffed at the nonchalant manner.

“Quit bein’ evasive.”

“Quit bein’ a little shit.” Steve shot back, grinning.

Bucky couldn’t help laughing, tucking his face in to rub against Sammy.

They slipped into a comfortable silence after that, and Bucky enjoyed the little sounds the room carried; both of their breathing, Sammy’s snuffling, the scratch of Steve’s charcoal pencils against paper, the heater kicking in, and the ever-present faraway rumbling that was New York.

Bucky’s mind began to jump from one thought to another, a slush of memory that ended up focusing on a puff of a feathers. Bucky wondered briefly if he landed on that one because of the birds cooing outside, but he didn’t care. Instead he wanted to share with Steve.

 “Do you remember that pigeon we once saved?”

The scratch of pencil didn’t stop, but Steve answered back, “The one that you nearly drowned? Yeah.”

“I did not nearly drown it, what is wrong with you. The way I remember it…”

They spent the rest of the morning going back and forth, retelling favorite memories. It was such an easy day that Bucky was reminded again of how much he loved Sundays. More than that, how much he cherished these peaceful moments with Steve. It made their collective hell of a history worth it, just to be here and now, unafraid.

*

“Pancakes aren’t a dinner food, Buck.”

“I don’t fucking care. I want it.”

“Then you’re mixing the batter.” Steve said exasperatingly.

“Why don’t you come over here and mix _my_ batter?” Bucky called from across the room, waggling his eyebrows.

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“ _You_ don’t make sense!”

Steve groaned and gritted out under his breath, “I cannot believe I willingly live here.”

Bucky heard him, of course, from where he was hanging upside down on the armchair. “Because you love me!” He screeched in a sing-song voice.

Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile was sickeningly sweet with how genuine it was. “Oh yeah. That.”

“Uh-huh. That. Now where’s my breakfast, punk?”

The fact that Steve was in the kitchen, actually taking out all the needed ingredients, just made his following, “Jerk,” all the more funny to Bucky.

Flipping himself over so that he could make his way to the kitchen, Bucky grinned, “Sticks and stones, Stevie.”

“You do realize how the rest of that saying goes, right?”

Bucky stopped dead, frozen while he processed what he just heard. Then he doubled over laughing.

“Sure,” He gasped out, “make fun of the brainwashed guy!”

Steve shrugged, smiling and chuckling himself, before saying, “I’m just taking your therapist’s advice, Buck. You should try it sometime.”

Still laughing, Bucky came up behind Steve and wrapped his arms around his chest, squeezing tight and pushing his face against his back. “You have to say it again next time Sam’s here, just so we can fuck with him.”

“Only if you mix the batter.”

“Deal.”

*

After dinner, they watched a movie which they proceeded to sleep through the entirety of. They weren’t even tired, necessarily, but they didn’t care. As the credits started rolling, Steve began to stretch and then huffed out a loud breath when Bucky rolled right on top of him.

“My god, you’re getting fat.”

“You’re getting wrinkles.” Bucky shot back, loving the way they’d been settling back into their childish insults. They hadn’t necessarily been walking on egg shells around each other, but it hadn’t been as easy. Lately, Bucky reflected, they’d been more comfortable in their skins, able to crack jokes, and more importantly, handle them. They weren’t shadowed by bitterness or regret anymore.

He did, however, scowl when Steve unceremoniously shoved him off of his lap, dumping him on the floor. “No need to be so cranky, grandpa. I know it’s past your bedtime.” Bucky grumbled as he picked himself up. He mocked rubbed his shoulder to prove a point.

Steve, for his part, looked smug as he watched Bucky. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“Whatever.” Bucky was mollified, though, when Steve stepped in and pressed a light kiss on the shoulder he was rubbing.

They made their way to the bedroom and got ready for bed, Steve disappearing into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Bucky changed his sweaters, hissing softly when the new one was cooler than his body-warm one he now regretted taking off. As he threw his dirty clothes in the hamper, however, he caught sight of Steve’s sketchbook, lying on the same chair as earlier. Without thinking, Bucky moved over to it and picked it up.

When he looked back to the bathroom, he saw Steve was brushing his teeth, but he was watching Bucky. He gave a slight shrug when Bucky raised an eyebrow in question, and then retreated deeper into the bathroom to finish up.

Bucky took that as permission to peruse the book, feeling weirdly pleased by Steve’s magnanimous mood. He heard the faucet running as he sat down on the bed with the sketchbook in his lap, his metal fingers tracing the spine gently. Finally, he brought himself to open it and turn the pages.

He found it was full of sketches, mostly of life around the apartment, the New York scenes they can see from their fire escape, some of Sam and Nat, one of the Howling Commandos, a couple of the cat, and of course, Bucky. He’d always known Steve drew him, and he’d seen his stuff before, but this sketchbook was newer; he hadn’t really seen much of Steve’s art since they’d moved in, now that he thought about it.

It was the same, and yet different. The tone had somehow changed, and Bucky wasn’t surprised to see a difference; after all, Steve was a different person from who he used to be.

When he turned the page to the most recent sketch, though, Bucky’s throat went tight with emotion. He couldn’t even put into words why that picture was so special, only that he instinctively knew it was.

It was a simple charcoal sketch of both the cat and Bucky when they had been lying on the bed earlier that morning. Steve had drawn him looking up, exactly the way Bucky had looked at him, and the shock of seeing him through someone else’s lens was leaving him speechless. Steve had drawn him _happy_ , and Bucky would have argued that it was a figment of Steve’s imagination, wishful thinking on his part. But his argument would have fallen flat. He couldn’t even try to go there, because he knew for a fact that it would have been pointless.

Bucky _was_ happy.

Undeniably so.

He wasn’t cured, wasn’t saved, wasn’t free from his past, but he’d shouldered his way past all of that to be here and now, in this moment in time, and still manage to find a sliver of happiness and clutch it tight.

Steve saw it, had seen it before Bucky had, and the proof was right there in front of him.

Bucky felt the bed dip slightly, and he looked up to see Steve watching him seriously. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Can I have this?”

Immediately he began to mentally kick himself for asking to have a picture of himself, but it was too late, he’d already said the words. It obviously wasn’t what Steve was expecting, but the bashful grin and growing blush on his face helped to knock Bucky back down a notch.

“I just meant that— that I love it.” He said quietly, looking back down at the book, embarrassed.

“Hey.” Steve started, reaching a hand out to cup Bucky’s jaw and gently turn him so that he was facing Steve. When Bucky finally brought himself to meet his gaze, Steve continued, “I would be honored to give you the picture.”

Before he could think of something to say, Bucky was enveloped in a hug as Steve wrapped his arms around him. Buck raised his hands to return the hug, holding on tighter than usual.

“Thank you.” Bucky whispered, fingers curling into Steve’s shirt.

Steve nodded, his slight stubble scratching softly against Bucky’s cheek. “Thank _you_.” He murmured, voice just as quiet. 

Bucky couldn’t help himself then, but to pull back slightly and catch Steve’s mouth in a kiss, pouring all of his gratitude and love into it and still not feeling like it was adequate enough to truly show how he felt.

Steve seemed to understand, like he always did, and opened himself up, letting the kiss turn sweet and tender. Bucky couldn’t help but gasping sharply at the overwhelming feeling that washed over him, their simple intimacy almost enough to unravel him. Without breaking away, Steve carefully took the sketchbook from Bucky’s limp hands and tucked it somewhere behind him, out of the way, before guiding Bucky to lie back on the bed, following him down.

“I love you.” Bucky managed, feeling the need to say it. He wanted to say it again and again and again, knowing they were mere words in the face of what he wanted Steve to know. But then Steve was telling him the same, just as urgent and pleading, as if Bucky was the one that needed convincing, which just didn’t make sense.

But then Steve started kissing down Bucky’s jaw, trailing his neck and nipping at his collarbone, and Bucky could only push himself up to try and get more. When Steve’s hands brushed along his sides, bunching up his sweater in his hands and tugging gently, Bucky immediately arched his back so that Steve could pull it off. As soon as he tossed it off the bed, Steve leaned down again and continued his trail of light kisses and the occasional teeth against his chest, as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

Bucky’s own hands immediately got tangled in Steve’s shirt again, but when he whined, Steve left a light kiss in the middle of his chest before tugging his own shirt over his head, allowing Bucky to roam his fingers across his back unimpeded.

They were taking it slow and easy, and Bucky realized they were both more than aroused. It wasn’t the hot and passionate love-making they were used to, but Bucky was delighted to appreciate that it was just as good, taking their time. His own cock was heavy in his sweatpants, and every time Steve shifted, Bucky couldn’t help the little thrusts he made against him. Steve just smiled and kept up his relaxed movements, and Bucky knew he was doing it on purpose.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed, and then he devolved into meaningless sounds and whimpers when Steve slipped a hand under his sweats and gave a teasing stroke. Everything felt so much more, and Bucky was getting overwhelmed again, but then Steve reached up and kissed him on the lips again, swallowing the pitiful noises Bucky was making, and suddenly he could breathe again.

“Still with me?” Steve asked, one hand brushing errant strands of hair out of Bucky’s face, the other, still maddeningly holding his cock in a loose fist. Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice. Steve’s thumb slid over the head of his cock, causing Bucky to gasp and jerk his hips up. He whined again when Steve stopped, however, and pulled his hand back out. Bucky opened his mouth to ask why he’d stopped, but then Steve was pushing his thumb inside, and Bucky was hit with the burst of flavor that was himself.

He closed his lips around Steve’s thumb and automatically started sucking, and this time it was Steve’s turn to groan loudly. Bucky started sucking harder, and then Steve rolled his hips against Bucky’s, the both of them moaning in unison at the friction.

Steve pulled his hand away, and Bucky was sad to let him go, but Steve didn’t leave him wanting, kissing him hard instead. They fell into an erratic rhythm of push and pull with each other, grinding through their sleep pants, cocks twitching with each pass. Bucky was lost to it all, swimming in his emotions, and when he could stand to open his eyes, he could plainly see that Steve was no better. They’d both come so far, had done so much, and now they were finally allowed to surrender to their wants for once. They could finally put themselves first and rest the burden of the world off of their shoulders.

And they did.

There was no one else, nothing else at this moment, just them. Just the two of them climbing higher in ecstasy until they were drowning in it. It was the most perfect moment Bucky could remember, and he could have wallowed happily in it forever.

The fact that they both climaxed at the same time did not surprise Bucky in the least, not with how in tune they were with each other. Steve groaned out his release against Bucky’s temple, his hands instinctively finding Bucky’s and twining their fingers together tightly. Bucky could only gasp in response, his own orgasm leaving him completely wrecked and shivering.

They took their time coming down, with Steve lying almost completely on top of Bucky. He shifted off to the side a bit to let him breathe, but his arm draped protectively over Bucky. Both of them breathed deeply, relishing just being for the moment.

“Fuck.” Bucky managed eventually.

Steve hummed before mumbling, “Agreed.”

Bucky didn’t even flinch when Steve started tracing the scars on his shoulder. Some areas were numb to the feeling, while others were hypersensitive, but it all translated to a pleasant sensation, loving the warmth of his palm, the lightness of his fingers. Bucky closed his eyes and enjoyed the invisible art that Steve was creating on his skin and metal.

Of course, it was in that quiet moment that they heard a loud meow coming from outside of the bedroom.

“You locked her out, didn’t you?” Bucky asked, throwing an arm over his eyes as he started to smile at the absurdity of being a cat owner turned out to be.

Steve tucked his face against Bucky’s chest, “Not on purpose.”

Bucky could feel him grinning though, and he let out a laugh. “It’s a good thing we like her.”

“She’s alright, I guess.”

“Then you can go let her in.” Bucky poked Steve in the face.

Steve scrunched up his face adorably. “Never mind, I take it back.”

Chuckling, Bucky rolled away from Steve who made a complaining noise. “Big man you are, scared of a little cat.” He was unsteady for the first few steps, tiredness and vertigo working together to throw him off balance, but then he was opening the door to let Sammy in.

“I plead the fifth.” Steve mumbled, tucking up against Bucky’s pillow. He watched as Sammy jumped up onto the bed only to curl up right next to where Bucky’s pillow usually went. Steve reached out a hand, his fingers relaxed, and Sammy licked the offering once before resting her head on her tucked up paws.

Bucky was distracted by movement on the side of the room, and was thrown off when he realized it was coming from outside of the window. “Is it snowing?”

Steve craned his neck to take a look. “Huh. I guess so.”

“I doubt it’ll stick.” Bucky closed the door behind him and then went to lie down again. As he reached the bed, he saw Steve’s sketchbook near the edge, so he stretched over Steve’s body to grab it. Of course, Steve took the opportunity to pull Bucky down on top of him.

“Probably not, but I can think of something else sticking if we don’t change soon.”

“Ugh.” Bucky settled against Steve, sketchbook still in hand and he flipped to the last picture again. With his metal fingers, he traced some of the lines, almost petting the drawing of the cat.

When Steve settled a hand on his, Bucky closed the book and set it on the bedside table before turning to face him. “Not yet. I don’t wanna move.”

Steve grinned widely and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Sounds good.”

Bucky grinned back.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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